Belle looks dubiously at the shower, and then turns to Rumple with one eyebrow raised. "You cannot be serious."

"It's wonderful," he insists, as he has been ever since Belle accidentally flooded his downstairs bathroom two days ago. "It takes less time than a bath and you don't have to sit in your own filth."

She cocks her head, looking at him curiously. "I don't recall you ever bathing at the Dark Castle."

Rumple doesn't know what to say to that. He didn't bathe at the Dark Castle. He didn't need to; magic took care of that. He straightens, Mr. Gold re-asserting himself. "It's a perfectly safe contraption, Belle. I wouldn't let you in it if it wasn't."

She eyes it again, and then reaches out, turning the hot water knob as he'd shown her. He curses the plumbing as it chooses that moment to gurgle out unsupportively, but after a moment the water is running as it should. Shortly thereafter, steam begins to rise. He stops her as she reaches out her hand again. "Turn on the cold first."

She does, and then tentatively tests the water. Belle steps back, looking the box up and down, with its sliding glass door and detachable shower head. "So, I just step in? And then back out when I'm done? That's it? It just keeps pouring?"

"Yes."

"That seems wasteful." Her nose scrunches as she thinks about it. "Do people here waste everything?"

"Uh-uh," he tuts, a bit of the imp creeping into his lilt. "Got you there, dearie. A shower uses less water."

She stares at him. "You're lying."

"You're stalling." She blushes prettily, and for a moment he forgets what they're arguing about. "Just get in, Belle. It'll be fine. The shampoo and conditioner are on the side of the tub, there's a bar of soap in the dish, and a washcloth hanging. Towels are here. You'll survive, I promise."

She looks at it one more time, then back at him. "You'll be out there?"

"Yes. I'll be in the room next door. I promise."

"Okay." She nods, then lets out a breath of air and turns around. "Can you undo the thingy on the back of the dress?"

He means to remind her that it's a zipper, but his tongue seems to have forgotten how to work. With shaking hands he drags it down, revealing an incredible expanse of creamy, pale skin. He steps back, hands fluttering nervously. "I'll be going, then," he says, and steps out of the room.

He waits for the sound of a crash, or a squeal, or anything to signify that something has gone horribly wrong, but hears only the sound of water running for 12 minutes before it is shut off. Another few minutes go by before Belle appears, wrapped in his robe, hair hanging wetly. He debates showing her the hair dryer he'd purchased the day before, but, upon reflection, decides that there have been enough new discoveries for today. There's time enough for to dry before bed.

She sits next to him on the couch, legs pulled up underneath her. "How was it?" he asks.

"Odd," she says truthfully. "I'm not used to being pelted with drops of water continuously."

He blinks. It's an odd way to put things, but he supposes for someone with no frame of reference it suffices well enough. Her skin is rosy and flushed from the steam, and he can't resist pulling her against his side. She relaxes against him, and he feels water from her hair soak through the top of her shirt. He doesn't care.

"One step at a time," he reminds her.

"I know," she says. "I really can't wait for this to become easier."

For the most part he agrees, but he has to admit to himself, silently, that there's something intoxicating about watching his curious beauty discover a whole new world.